


The Sky Upside Down

by glayish



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Brothers, Homecoming, M/M, Powerlessness, Pseudo-Incest, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Teamwork, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wilderness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-21 01:03:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glayish/pseuds/glayish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It’s ironic, really, that they’re going home and they’re all the more lost for it. </i>
</p><p>Directly post-Avengers movie; Thor and Loki must drag the Tesseract back to their father, without any power or magic to their names.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly this was just my excuse to have Thor and Loki have sex in a barn but then I tried to fix them too. Lol... as if that would ever work.

Alive.

_Loki is alive._

This is the thought that has spurred Thor since the beginning— 

Since the moment the AllFather took him aside; took him away from the endless mourning and into the night. Thor watched as new runes were scribed into his armor without warning, with whispered words of magic he did not recognize. 

This thought was the fast beat of pounding feet towards the stables, steeds racing towards the city edge. The two of them, Thor and his father, charging out to where cold gray dirt diffused into black thickets of forest and the gold of Asgard started to tarnish and break. Flake away into darkness.

_He is alive._

That night was a rush of sounds, tearing through the brush and trying desperately to catch Odin’s clipped instructions. Nonsensical words curled together quickly and pulled tight through his ears before being stamped out by the galloping hooves of a dozen cloaked riders bursting from the shadows, their pointed ears drawing speed lines in the dark. 

The thought scraped across Thor’s face like tears ripped from eyes by breakneck pace. A race, towards some unknown point in the distance marked only by a glowing pillar of light. It trumped even Odin’s command, this thought. The express command of a king telling Thor to _bring it back_ as they stepped towards the heart of a magic circle drawn into the ground by the Dark Elves, branches overhead clawing through the sky washed red. 

_Not dead._

And then, just like that, Thor was spiralling away on a crack of black lightning, hurtling through the rip between realms to search.

It is the same thought which strings together Thor’s scattered feelings during Midgard’s events, the formation of the Avengers, the fight, the struggle, the end. The flashes of action and emotion twine together like a chain linking memories, one by one as pearls on a necklace. Precious.

It is also perturbing, how now Loki must be made to _wear_ chains, as they return to Asgard on a beam of electric blue light.

*******

The _swing-swing-clank_ of the metal links is the first sound to bypass the ringing in Thor’s ears.

“Loki,” He asks on the sudden outrush of breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

His brother grunts.

“I will take them off as soon as I can,” Thor mutters, sweat making his eyelids stick together and lips taste salty. His feet feel weighed down, stuck, and the pungent smell of smoke is crawling up his nostrils. 

The blur clears enough for Thor to catch Loki’s eyes flicking to the side. As if one, their chins drop to see where they stand. It is a magic circle, ten men’s lengths and freshly blazed into the ground underfoot. The pattern looks different from what Thor recalls, lined with unrecognizable runes which are etched into the very soil. It’s out the corner of his eye he sees Loki grazing a curious toe across the blackened symbols. 

Thor yanks the chamber encasing the Tesseract held between them and Loki’s jerked from his reverie. A scowl immediately furls across his face. At least, what parts which are not covered by a muzzle. 

There’s the sudden phantom grip of guilt clenching in the pit of his stomach and Thor looks away. 

The ground feels almost sticky, like they’re pulling their way through invisible vines curling around their feet. Thor leads them out into the crisp thickets of surrounding forest, scanning the shadows slow and deliberate as they stagger away from the magic circle’s hold. 

The air of Asgard is dry, thick, a blanket full of sand settling over the back of Thor’s throat. In his short absence he’d almost forgotten its heavy hold. Now, folded under the imposing press of the atmosphere, the events on Midgard seem so very far away. Distorted, like underwater light.

Unexpectedly, Thor sways, and every leaf hanging from the tree line suddenly stands out in sharp relief. His heart is racing.

_Kkkkkrrrrttzz!_

There is a blinding flash of blue and Thor nearly drops the Tesseract in the force that propels out of it. Electric current flares through the surroundings. Static bounces across the metal of Thor’s armor, making his hair stand on end. 

He quickly turns towards Loki, who’s staring at the Tesseract as though offended. Thor hastily adjusts his grip. Both their hands are gripping the chamber handles with resolve.

The surrounding foliage lays flattened from the dispersion of energy, but that isn’t the most confusing sight. The previously dormant runes of the circle are now glowing a bright menacing red. Thor does not know what this means but he has no time to figure things out. Not when he has what he needs right in his hands.

He feels sick. 

Thor tugs at the cube’s chamber and Loki’s eyes meet his, pale green rings squeezing out the pupils into pinpricks. They’re in no condition to fly.

Together they steal through the trees, eager to discover where they’ve been spit out.

*******

Loki is alive but _difficult._

“Move your feet,” Thor grunts, yanking on the handle yet again and hearing the _clink-clank_ of Loki’s handcuffs. 

This carries on for some hours— a game of tug of war with the Tesseract. 

Let it be said it’s never taken long for Loki to deliberately grate on Thor’s nerves. No doubt Loki finds purpose in it, trickster and all. Thor hisses when the next swing of Loki’s chain slaps hard against the back of his knee. _That_ had certainly been on purpose.

“Do not,” Thor grits his teeth against the rise of irritation, “do that again.”

Loki stares back with an infuriating look of boredom.

A little while later, the strike of the chain stings Thor again and he mentally burns down Yggdrasil to keep from whirling around.

The trees are dense, streaked through with puddles of gravel and large spills of boulders. Stones glittering with swirls of minerals litter the forest bed, making it a chore to navigate. The paths are sharp and unstable underfoot and Thor drags boots through a particularly heavily packed stream of rocks entwined with roots and leaves; the remnants from previous landslides, no doubt. They’re west of the royal city, if that’s the case. Way west.

He squints up through the canopy but the tree cover is still thick enough that sunlight flutters down like meagre handfuls of confetti. They must go further still. 

Thor pulls hard, picks up his feet in a brutal march until it feels like he’s _towing_ Loki, who seems to be trying his best at becoming dead weight.

Thor bites his lip, squinting at the swift sting that comes with the thought. A buzz fills his ears. There’s so much to be done, so much that he wants to ask. But there’s no time. Not when Father needs the cube back, not when Loki is—

Loki yanks the Tesseract at full force in the opposite direction.

_CRACK!_

The container smacks against a jutting boulder.

“Loki!” Thor whirls, his immediate anger springing from the fact he hadn’t been paying attention, “Cease your—”

_BAM!_

A bright hot pulse of energy slams out, knocking the wind out of Thor’s lungs. He can’t even shout as his veins light on fire.

The fast flash of blue sends shocks shooting up Thor’s arm, conducting across the broad plane of his armour. It jolts him, the pain of it, and he gasps, lurches, gasping for breath.

The excruciating pain vanishes as fast as it came, and when Thor regains his bearings the overpowering smell of burnt vegetation reaches his nostrils. There are bright dots dancing in his vision and he snorts, shaking his head and rubbing a rough hand through the sweat that’s collected on his brow. 

When Thor’s eyes stop dazzling, he registers Loki’s laboured, muzzled breathing. A few wisps of black hair are sticking out at odd angles, a thin trail of smoke curling up. They’re both kneeling in the dirt.

“Mgfh,” Loki huffs out, incomprehensible and blinking hard. He wrenches the handle of the container but Thor holds tight. The stench of burnt leather and metal is swelling on the back of Thor’s tongue but he grits his teeth and Loki shakes his head, rattling the Tesseract’s jar again. It twists to reveal a large crack in the glass.

They glare at each other. 

_Perfect._

Loki rolls his eyes and Thor scowls, worry hooking his gaze downwards to the case.

“Come Loki,” Thor snags him by the side of his coat, shaking once, twice, “We’ve still far to go yet.”

And then they’re on the move again.

*******

_Chrrrkk._

Thor stares at Mjölnir with mistrust.

“I do not understand.”

He lifts the slumbering weapon high once more, calling forth the power to come down and make him soar.

 _Ch-chnkk._ A puff of black smoke erupts from the hammer’s head.

“This has never happened before,” Thor rumbles under his breath in disbelief.

Loki raises lazy eyebrows in a look that says far too much of what he thinks of Thor’s hammer.

Thor scowls down at Mjölnir, trying not to feel betrayed, and then twirls it anxiously in his palm.

The sound of static crackles high pitched in the air, like a thousand nails clawing at a slate. Thor grimaces and Loki judders the Tesseract jar which has started to act up. The buzz escalates, deafening to the point that Thor wants to cover his ears— before Loki gives the blasted thing a vicious slap.

The cube quiets.

“Damn all this magic to Muspelheim!” Thor curses.

Mjölnir has been rendered useless by the Tesseract’s energy bleed. 

Loki stares balefully out from half-lidded eyes and shrugs a shoulder as if to say, _how convenient._

Thor quickly shoots him a warning glance.

They can see the magic as it wracks along the seams of the cube’s container, tickling at Loki’s fingers and threatening to unleash more than just dribbles and short bursts of excess energy. It’s wreaking havoc on Mjölnir’s power, sparking angrily each time Thor tries to thrust the hammer into the sky, one hand securely clamped at the scruff of Loki’s collar, prepared to fly. 

Loki lets out an exasperated snort, his breath hot and strong enough for Thor to feel it upon his cheek. 

With a quick shove he pushes Loki away.

He wants to remove Loki’s binds and ask for advice, but knows that it is not wise.

Reluctantly, Thor turns the hammer around in his palm a few times, scrutinizing the blunt head and shaking it in hopes to be rid of the glitches. Mjölnir is useless. He grimaces before tying it to his belt. Hand free of his trusted weapon, he cannot stop the punch of frustration to a nearby boulder. It splits in two with a sharp snap.

Loki makes a muffled sound from behind the muzzle which sounds a lot like amusement and the chamber hanging from his chained hands shines a mockingly brighter blue.

It seems, for the time being, they’re both to be stripped of power. The implications are worrisome, but there’s nothing that can be done. 

How convenient.

*******

Loki tries to make a run for it with the Tesseract.

And he almost gets away too; just before the forest sleeps, he’s fast as lightning on his feet ripping through the throes of twilight. Thor chases Loki out into the stony quarry that stretches out from the tree line. Gray-gold rays from the sinking sun drip across the horizon, pooling in the remnants of mining holes which dot the land.

Even though they’re both magicless, Thor has no problem catching him. In fact, it’s too simple, too familiar. Thor is careless, throwing a hearty hand to curl on Loki’s neck. It’s almost like they’re still brothers, playing the way they used to in their youth. 

Until Loki gives a violent shrug.

But Thor does not let go. Maybe he even grips too tight. The artery under his thumb pulses, powerful and thick. Thor gets stuck glaring back at Loki even though he doesn’t truly want to glare. They’ve always shared too much.

Eventually, the tense moment bleeds away and Loki relents against Thor’s grip enough to continue the belligerent trek. Both of them breathe in the Asgardian air for hours, deeply, silently, until the ground evens out and they come upon a city edge.

*******

Warriors and townsfolk amble through the dusty patchwork of roads. Up close, it’s more of a village, easily determined by the small simple buildings quilting out from the town square. Near the perimeter there’s a stable bracketed by a cozy looking tavern and library. They duck behind the line of horses, smells of ale and old books colliding with the earthy hay crunching softly underfoot.

Thor drags Loki towards a shaded corner, slipping two musky burlap sheets from the feed crates. 

They need to avoid recognition. 

He flings the cloth atop Loki’s head.

Loki scrambles for a second before pulling the sheet from his face. Those green eyes hit Thor with outrage but Thor pays no mind, just tightens the makeshift cloak on Loki even more, fists closing the material tight at his neck.

“Loki, _please_ ,” Thor implores, but it comes out angrily under his breath.

Loki slumps and allows Thor’s ministrations, glaring daggers, but Thor doesn’t care. He’ll take this—anything—in lieu of the nothing he had before.

Thor stills.

He’s comforted by the way Loki acts just as he remembers, blowing out an angry breath and finally shaking Thor off. Loki has always needed to stand on his own two feet, stand atop everyone. Thor watches him for a moment, pacing with a proud arch of the neck, a disdainful sniff. Sentiment creeps at Thor’s lips. But it’s only for a moment, for he has none to spare. Not now. 

The smile drops into a scowl and Thor turns. 

They adjust the disguises as best they can before Loki is thumping a boot in the hay, gesturing for Thor to take a crate. Confused, Thor pries one loose from the pile and sets its heavy weight with a thud against the soft soil and straw. Loki kneels then upends the wooden box, sending oats to flood around their feet. The horses snort and bat their tails in interest.

Loki takes another length of burlap and wraps up the Tesseract case to mute the glow. He then shoves the bundle into the crate, the cube safely out of sight, the chain binding his wrists rattling against the side.

The stubbornness that’s balled up in Thor’s chest softens.

They’re far off from the royal city, a week or two worth of travelling by foot at least, without Thor’s hammer or Loki’s spells for aid. Thor longs to call for his friends, but remembers with dread what Odin had said. He must tell no one. 

And so they creep through village, sneaking through the alleyways. The sun sets, bathing each stocky building in golden light as the shadows run down the streets like black streaks of dirt being washed away. Thor pushes to keep hidden in these shadows until nightfall, but sadly, it’s Loki who better knows how to navigate the dark.

*******

“You’re a fool.”

This is the first thing Loki says once his mouth is free.

And he says it many times more over the next days as they pass through the village, beginning the tedious climb across the rocky landscape. Unfortunately, there is only so long an Asgardian can go without needing a mouth to imbibe water. 

Loki’s insults are harmless, however, and the steady stream of disparagement does not deter Thor, for hearing Loki’s voice is strangely comforting in itself. 

“Hmph,” Loki sniffs at the tail-end of a berating spiel. “The pines are coming in.”

These rare unguarded words not thorned with hate are what prick Thor deepest.

The royal city stands tall and golden behind the range; Thor can even imagine he sees the spires scraping the skyline. But it would take days yet to thread through the needle-thin footpaths of the hills. Unfortunately, there’s only so much hiking an Asgardian can do while chained.

Thor gives Mjölnir a test swing.

Nothing.

Loki makes use of his lack of bindings by attempting another spell. Nothing is forthcoming. He curses.

True to his word, Thor had tossed the encumbering restraints. Of course, as soon as Loki had tried to light Thor’s hair on fire and disappear they made the unpleasant discovery his magic was gone too.

The Tesseract hangs between them, a shared burden. Loki digs his feet into the ground. Thor grunts and tugs on the crate causing Loki to stumble. 

They both grumble.

It goes without saying that one does not trust the other to carry the cube by himself. 

Loki had nearly made off with the Tesseract _again,_ on the horses they’d stolen in the early morn from the previous village. That was, until Thor had thrown Mjölnir and knocked Loki off his steed. At least the hammer was still good for something. The horses had run away though.

A twig snaps beneath Thor’s boot. He holds in a sigh.

So now, they walk.

Loki keeps fingers curled on one end of the crate just as steady as Thor. 

This is a stalemate, each hanging onto the power that’s brought them to this point, unwilling to let go. In a way, it’s always been like that with the two of them. Always something in between, a reason to push them apart, a reason to keep them together— An invisible knot, something that could be unravelled if they chose to let go. But no. It’s only pulled tighter.

They are tied together by the Tesseract, its volatile energy threatening to spill forth. It’s a sort of dreadful dawning of an uncomfortable idea— that they’ve always been held captive by one another.

“You are stuck with me, Loki,” Thor finally says, not even bothering to spare him a glance. In the distance, sunlight glints off the white tips of the mountains and a cool breeze tangles his hair, curling across his vision. 

He squints. 

“Which does not change the fact that you _are_ a fool. Mark my words, Thor. The _moment_ ,” Loki shifts angrily, dragging off course, “The exact moment my magic returns, I will take this,” Loki rattles the crate slung between their hands, “And you will never find me.”

Thor pauses. For a second he thinks about turning around. Wants to drop this pretense and have it out right here, right now. But that tricky little second hand pushes forward and Thor continues, feet trudging steadily in the long grass of a hill that never seems to end.

“And _I_ ,” Thor jerks the crate sharply, “Am taking this back to Father.”

Loki sneers and that’s the moment Thor chooses to look back, see the awful expression stretching Loki’s mouth. Their eyes catch; and there’s something angrily pushing at the front of Thor’s skull that makes him want to look away but at the same time, doesn’t let him.

“You can try,” Loki snorts and presses his lips together in a thin line. He’s the first to peel away from the increasingly intense glare and Thor cannot help but feel freed.

“I can try,” Thor replies under his breath, trudging onwards again. “Though I would wager the moment your magic returns is the moment Mjölnir reawakens as well.”

Loki grimaces.

So yes, they’re stuck. They would have to do this alone. No one is coming for them. 

For all of Asgard believes Loki to be dead and no one knows Thor even left.

*******


	2. Chapter 2

Thor is unnerved.

It takes no great feat to notice this. 

Loki can tell from the way Thor paces restlessly, his tattered red cape now black at the edges swishing across the ground. They are high up where the air is thin, lungs filling in quick light breaths that curl out between lips to form ghostly apparitions. Tall juts of stone from the mountain protect their flickering campfire from the coldest winds, the high perch preventing them from being discovered. 

The hike had been simple enough. They’d kept to the trails, a suspicious action, considering Thor’s odd keenness to remain unnoticed. Most likely Odin told him to keep his mouth shut, Thor would never think to do so otherwise. Still, it’s surprising no one of importance has run across them thus far, but he has a sneaking suspicion— about the Tesseract, sitting innocently by the fire in its crate.

Oh, Loki does know the menace of its aura. Has known, ever since having the cube in his possession. Concealing sight of its power does nothing to lessen it and he can feel the hum at every turn; vibrating out in waves of energy, buzzing and grinding in its prison. Loki suspects it’s been driving away wildlife making hunting scarce. In fact, if he concentrates, he can even feel the echo of that touch dancing across the backs of his eyes. 

Still, if Thor notices the cube’s effects, he has not made any mention. 

It wouldn’t be the first time Thor’s obliviousness would suits Loki just fine.

Thor stokes the fire’s core with a wiry branch plucked from the skeleton of an old mountain tree. Its crackled twiggy arms are silver claws against the night, providing no shelter on the small ledge. Loki sits despondently on the edge as Thor throws the burnt stick into the flames.

Below in the far distance is a small settlement fanning out in the shape of a cross. The air is so clear here that Loki imagines he can almost taste the elements of civilization— tangy metal wafting from the blacksmith, the saltine of preserved meats, the rare but stirring spiciness of an old cracked book.

Loki blinks against the sudden sting of smoke slithering past his nose, his eyes watering. The blur turns those flickering torches of the town into a vision of gold stars spilled across the ground.

When Loki looks down it feels a bit like he’s falling.

The fire pops, crackling with lazy snaps in the coolness of the air. Loki tears his gaze away from the town, watching subtly as Thor pauses in his fruitless pacing to tear off a bite of game and chew with vigour, rolling the dense strip of meat between his teeth. 

Loki chews his own portion more slowly.

Thor is lit up in the brilliance of the firelight, golden hair falling to curtain his face, gently, like the arm of the sky wrapped comfortably around the horizon. He’s bright, like the blanket of stars draped overhead, twinkling amongst a swirl of clouds. Loki averts his gaze.

Instead, he watches the orange glow lapping at the paleness of his hands, a tide of warmth trying to push away the coldness innate to him. It doesn’t work. His fingers still feel stiff. If he stares long enough maybe they even look blue. 

Loki sneers and tugs his coat tighter, twisting fingers into the heavy leather fabric to shut the elements out. The temperature doesn’t bother him as much as the fact that he can’t seem to shut everything out. Because it’s against his will, really, when his eyes return to Thor once more.

Thor’s pacing continues and on the offbeat a skip in the fire casts him into darkness, matching him to the night air, a shadow spilling over the points on his face not sharp enough to reflect the light. Loki blinks away more smoke, brows drawing close. 

Thor has gotten so soft.

“Have you enough to eat?” Thor asks, disturbing the silence. The toes of his boots stop close enough to the edge of the fire to be licked. 

Loki scowls and chews pointedly to appear just as ravenous. Thor always did have a habit of asking stupid questions. 

Loki keeps up the farce until Thor finally turns away, his face falling back into that lost little look— the one he always gets when there isn’t a foe standing conveniently in front of his hammer’s swing. It’s ironic, really, that they’re going home and they’re all the more lost for it. 

“Loki, you must know... You must understand.” Thor says at last, proud profile pointing out into the night towards the little mountain town. “You aren’t to be punished.”

“Oh, and I suppose the gag and chains were all a bit of fun then,” Loki replies with slight smile. Sarcasm always did have the sweetest taste.

Thor looks chagrined and then, almost immediately, righteous. “It was to prevent you from running.”

Loki lets out a laugh, appetite suddenly roaring to life. He chews some more. Swallows. The lump of meat is a warm weight in his stomach. Feels so warm that it makes the rest of him seem freezing. He leans back against the flat of a rock face, mouth twisted. The surface feels warm too. 

He is like a cold-blooded thing. 

His fingers scrape into the hard ground beside his hips, dirt blackening underneath nails. He’s empty, Loki thinks uncaringly. A hollow being without any meaning unless something brighter comes along to shed some light. He is a shadow, pushed far away, long and thin and stretched. 

Powerless.

Unfortunately he’d been impatient and tried to use his magic on Thor before testing his capabilities. A careless move— desperate, even. Loki knows better than to give his hand. And yet, he somehow always does... It’s almost as if there might even be a part of him that still cares. 

The thought is maddening. 

Loki reflects on this. Yes, it’s more likely he’s insane. It’s so much easier to find reason in chaos than to put trust in something else.

“You don’t believe me,” Thor says, something akin to sorrow lacing the words together.

Loki sneers. 

“Oh yes, I should believe that.” He kicks out and the remnant bones of the meal are pitched off the ledge. “I absolutely _anticipate_ being paraded back home as a failure for all of Asgard to see. To be mocked instead of mourned— After all I’ve done for—”

“Loki!” Thor interrupts, distraught and confused.

Loki can tell this from the way he does not immediately shout some righteous nonsense. Thor’s always been good at that. But now he pauses, staring grimly into the fire and takes his time in formulating whatever idiotic words of placation he thinks will work. Thor actually seems to be trying to think before he speaks and it’s, in a word, infuriating.

He hates this new Thor. Hates this warrior who wants peace in place of the one who loved war. 

As he turns his back to the fire, the empty space of the sky tickles past Loki’s ear and makes Thor’s voice sound watery, very far away.

“Loki... There was a funeral.”

*******

In truth, Loki is filled with an odd sort of satisfaction.

It’s odd in the way satisfaction usually means contentment, fullness— the feeling of getting what you want. 

And though Loki hasn’t everything he wants, he has come _close_. Oh, so very close. Perhaps this closeness is what makes the hollowness push painfully against the bottom of his stomach, until it’s like he’s walking atop ground that can fall away at any time. 

A funeral, Thor had said, all weak and _morose_. As if this should have been a surprise. As if this was evidence of mourning. As if it mattered!

What did Thor expect happened when things _died?_

Loki squints against the high noon sun’s reflection. The night’s sleep had been restless, wracked with visions painted by Thor’s disgusting recollections.

 _Even Sif cried_ , Thor had described across a whisper as they lay down by the dying fire. Each of them with a hand pressed against the Tesseract’s crate, Loki staring up at the sky and wishing he could disappear.

Who cared.

Deep into the range is a lush niche carved out in the middle of the mountain clusters. Whereas the high mountain pass fell prey to the elements, down here the air is trapped and warmed, a slice of life in an otherwise dead stone. Blood from a rock.

He can hear Thor’s boots, crunching against the edge of a river that splices the land like a jagged scar, still gushing. The rushing water garbles against Loki’s fingers as he stoops down to touch the smooth rocks glittering from the shallows.

“Here’s good, then.” Thor grunts in an annoyed fashion, toeing the Tesseract crate to the dry solid soil of the bank. “Make haste.”

“You want for a bath as well, with that stench,” Loki flicks the water from his fingertips at Thor’s face as he stands. “Figures the filth of Midgard would grow on you.”

Thor snorts, “Perhaps you would know. You did dwell there longer than I.”

Loki bristles with contempt, shoving past Thor and kicking off his boots. The little knife he carries in his sock gets pitched at Thor’s head, whizzing by just shy enough to land in the trunk of a tree at the center of the clearing.

Thor blows a newly cut lock of hair off his forehead and fixes Loki with a _look._

Loki huffs and tosses his coat in Thor’s face.

Needling Thor does nothing to improve his mood. In truth, Loki feels _defiled_ by Midgard. By everywhere. No matter where he goes there’s filth that dulls his shine. The only solution is to wipe it all out. Loki schools his features and slowly slips down to his undergarments, leaving a trail of leather and metal and gauntlets in his wake. 

The shock of the water bites. 

Loki sinks below the surface of the water and then breaks free into the air, slicking his dirty curling hair back into a smooth cap behind his ears. He blinks droplets out of his eyes and wipes his face clean, clenching his teeth against the need to shiver. Crouching low, he lets the fast push of the current wash away all the dirt and sting the blood back into his bruises.

On the bank, Thor drops to a seat in the dirt with a thud, dragging the crate harbouring the Tesseract to his side and opening it up. 

Loki watches out his eye’s corner as Thor inspects the cube through its glass prison. The glow is faint in the brightness of day, but he knows Thor is tracing the single crack that spiders out along the casing. It’s been growing larger each day. 

Perhaps by the time they reach the AllFather it will be useless.

Loki smiles mirthlessly into the water. 

“Surely you are clean by now!” Thor shouts over the noise of the river, throwing the Tesseract back into the crate after its outlived his interest. 

“Patience!” Loki snorts in reply, turning away and deliberately sucking in a long breath to dunk his head. His ears are immediately plugged closed with the rushing water. Thick invisible ropes of the current twine around his thighs and waist as if trying to pull him under, tie him up and drag him down. 

At least the sharp sounds of the world are silenced. He can almost imagine he’s not here.

It seems no matter what he does he’s tied to Asgard. The chaos of the universe keeps trying to twist him to its movements, unruly in its rule. He was adrift in the push and pull, content to fall wherever he may. Only it seems he’s been caught by the one force bent on taking him right back home. Now everything is out of his control. 

He should be used to this by now.

When Loki spins and opens his eyes underwater he takes note of the clusters of black rock protruding from the riverbed. The current is much faster just a few measures downstream, crashing solid white against anything in its path.

He springs through the water surface once more, gasping for breath.

Thor quickly looks away from the river, nose to the air and a deep scowl causing his eyes to squint. Loki almost laughs. He knew Thor would be watching. The stupid fool, Thor picks up Mjölnir, concentrating much too deep on ignoring him.

Loki should be used to that too.

He dunks his head once more. The swim will be difficult.

*******

“Loki!”

The scream is like a far away echo. It bounces back and forth in his ears, swaying through the dark like the straight beacon of a lighthouse stretching across wobbling seas. He’s submerged, drifting and full, weighed down by the smooth press of the depths. 

“LOKI!”

A punch to his chest.

“Ugh,” Loki surrenders to violent coughing which wracks his entire body. Water comes pouring out of his mouth, raw and cutting, a betrayal to the gliding coolness of before. Heat wraps around his shoulders, pulling him up, slapping his back. He groans against the sudden jolts, curling into a ball like a worm in the sun.

“Brother, do you breathe!?” 

The grip tightens to near-painful. 

_Of course,_ Loki thinks miserably. Of course it didn’t work. Thor.

“I’m not your brother,” He tries to say, but it gets lost somewhere in all the water that keeps coming up. Thor shakes him and Loki vomits more water into his lap. It feels like knives cutting their way out of his lungs. Wonderful.

Loki moans and shivers until something warm and heavy drapes around him.

Then Loki’s slapped in the face.

Black bugs crawl all over his eyes, swarming and scuttling in his vision until he blinks enough to send them flying away. When Thor comes into focus, it looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“What were you doing!?” Thor bellows and his voice rips through the water in Loki’s ears.

Thick columns of water twine down Thor’s face like clear ropes, tying him down so that he is hunched, bowed over.

“Answer me!”

It would be much simpler if Thor would stop _shaking_ him.

“I’m fine!” Loki snaps and takes a shuddering breath to soothe the adrenaline pumping fast through his blood. But the air just seems to sit shallow in his chest and he’s unable to stop panting. 

The sky is overcast, lethargic gray clouds bearing down across the horizon and smudging out the sun in a slow lazy swipe like that of a hand against a print in the sand. They’re farther down the river than before.

“You didn’t kiss me, did you?” Loki coughs out.

Thor, predictably, glares hard enough to turn his face a delightful rose colour.

“I’m fine,” Loki says again, smirking.

“You are not.” Thor sniffs menacingly and gives Loki a shove before hauling himself up to stomp away. 

It’s only then that Loki realizes Thor is soaked through, armor dripping and waterlogged, blond hair hanging in dirty dishwater tendrils down the back of his neck and— Loki looks down. Thor’s dry cape is wrapped around his shoulders.

He tries to drudge up the energy to recoil from its touch and comfort, but in the end, he just sits there. Detached.

“You could have...” Thor yells and then trails off; refusing to say what Loki knows he is thinking. “You’re frozen. Keep that on.”

Loki’s insides burn.

He has to calm the sudden rage with a deep burning breath, his lungs on fire with an emotion so thick and animalistic it feels like it could claw its way out of him if he isn’t careful.

“Yes, well there’s good reason for that.” He says spitefully then his mouth contorts at a twinge in his arm.

It’s bleeding. Damn. 

“A fracture at worst.” Thor supplies helpfully.

Loki surveys with a sort of wonder, looking at the limb as if isn’t really his. There’s a jagged puncture along the length of it, bright red mixed with water running down to his elbow like a streak of paint. His body’s defense is weaker than estimated. There go the plans for an unscathed escape. “Doesn’t hurt.”

“Yet.” Thor grunts. “Take care of that.”

Livid silence stretches between them.

Anger radiates from Thor’s every move as he shucks wet garments off and pitches them into a weak patch of sun on a smooth dry rock by the river edge. His bare back shines in the afternoon glow, little scratches etched into his skin standing out in stark relief. Most likely parting marks from the Chitauri, Loki thinks. A deeper, angrier, red puncture wound is on Thor’s side. 

Loki smiles blithely at the mark as if it has his name on it.

Thor is ignorant of Loki’s gaze as he grumbles to himself, rubbing under his nose and then picking up a large branch try beating the water out of his clothes.

Loki rolls his eyes. Not bothering to move, he uses the time to tear strips off the cape and wrap the wound. It doesn’t take very long. There’s little to be done without magic. 

Loki doesn’t exactly care, not really. 

Pain is a necessary thing. No matter how long it lasts, eventually you learn to live with it. Try to cut it off too soon and you’ll never learn how to deal. Loki bares this like a smile that begins with good intentions only to end up as just a show of too many teeth.

Loki swallows, trying to stave off the sharp prickle in his throat, “What of the Tesseract?”

“Safe.” Thor mutters, sniffing inelegantly, “Thanks to your thoughtless actions I am now to retrieve the blasted thing.”

“Alone?” Loki tries not to sound too hopeful. But they both know Thor won’t leave Loki and take the cube for himself. They’ve always known Thor’s behaviour works in Loki’s favour. Which is terribly unfair; why Loki still never wins. It just makes him want to _scream_. 

“I am considering it.” Thor pauses in pouring water out of a boot, “Lest you try killing yourself again.”

Loki cannot contain the smile that splits his lips. “That would be in bad taste. I’ve already died once.”

It’s a cruel barb by any account, which is why Loki uses it. He wants nothing less than to be seen as some woeful thing in need of coddling, searching for a way out. He may be magicless, be he is _not_ in _distress._ Although...

Thor finishes wringing out his pants and then stalks back, lifting Loki by the scruff of the cape. “Up.”

“I don’t need your help,” Loki snipes, gingerly kicking out and settling on his own two feet. His whole body aches and he grimaces, wrapping the cape around his body more tightly. 

“Oh, I know,” Thor replies, amusingly resilient. He gets that way when cross, like a mule. A side-effect of obstinacy, no doubt. 

“Just needed a bath.”

*******

“Give me your boots.” Loki says imperiously for the third time as they double back up the bank.

Thor can feel the crash of his eyebrows coming together in a scowl, but resolutely does not reply. He has come to a decision of utmost importance. And he must adhere to this oath, lest he be swayed by more of Loki’s talk. It would unravel his last threads of patience if he continues to allow Loki to pull his strin—

“Thor.”

Oh no, Thor will keep to this anger, hold tight to the only swell of truth in the tangle of lies. He’ll tie himself to it, live by the oath, remember—

“I’m serious, you lout!”

Thor stops short. If it weren’t for the fact that Loki is trailing behind at a snail’s pace he might have slammed into Thor’s back. But that’s not how it is and Thor holds back a sigh of impatience.

“No.” 

“How noble,” Loki jeers, carefully stepping over the forest debris and skirting around Thor with a swarthy look. “Letting the injured walk through these sharp stones with no shoes.”

Thor steels himself, “You’ve done well without until now. We are almost there.” 

“Yes, but my feet are raw _now._ ” Loki parades one large pale foot for Thor to see. Thor is sorely tempted to step on it.

“You already have my cape. And my pants.” Thor grits out.

“But you’re so much more suited to the wilderness than I, Thor.”

Thor privately agrees but stays stubborn. If he has learned anything from his friends the Avengers, one must always stick to the plan. 

“Thor, look, I’ve developed a _limp_.”

*******

They hobble into the clearing each wearing one boot.

“See?” Thor declares loudly and points to where Mjölnir sits proudly atop the Tesseract’s crate.

“Right,” Loki answers, completely ignoring Thor in favour of poking around the bank. Thor eyes Loki suspiciously as he nears the water before Thor realizes he’s trying to find his clothes.

Thor shrugs and slumps down, surreptitiously picking the pine needles and pebbles out of his tender foot. At this rate, they’ll be lucky to make the pass midway down the river. He looks up and squints at the sky, trying to gauge the time but the presence of more clouds overhead feeds unease into Thor’s gut. 

A cool breeze curls through the treetops, rustling the leaves ominously. Getting caught on the down slope in a storm would not be pleasant. It would be easy to lose the trails into town, easy as it was for Loki to almost drown.

Thor squashes down a sudden surge of anxiety at his powerlessness. He stares at Mjölnir longingly. Surely the mighty hammer is too heavy for an ordinary warrior to handle, but without its added magic, Thor has never before felt so... small.

There’s a soft rumble in the distance.

Thor hopes for the impending rain to pass them by.

“Where are my damned garments?” Loki practically hisses, turning over a rock. Thor blinks and realizes Loki’s all but turned the bushes upside down.

“They were around here somewhere,” Thor replies with a sniff, searching under a shrub for the pile of leather.

Suddenly, Loki stands tall and rigid.

“Thor,” Loki breathes out in awe, and then a terrible cringe contorts his pointy features into a wide-eyed look of disbelief.

“What?” Thor asks warily.

Loki pinches the bridge of his nose and then stalks forward, each limping step darkening his mood like a thunderstorm rolling in. “O’er the years I have _wasted_ many a breath by asking this question. Alas, it is very important and bears repeating.” He gives an ugly smile, “Are you a complete idiot?!”

Loki marches angrily towards the crate and grabs a hold of the side panel, flinging it open with a violent shatter without having to move Mjölnir. Stray bits of hay and a pile of grimy threadbare garments come tumbling out.

“Oh.” 

Thor swallows awkwardly around a lump of dread.

The Tesseract is gone.

“Yes,” Loki replies, “We’ve been robbed.”

*******


	3. Chapter 3

“This is all your fault.”

“ _Mine?_ ” Thor asks dangerously, squinting into the thick of the forest.

They are beyond the pass of the river and the trees are dense, pushed up tight against each other like the fine pins on a comb. The clusters render the surroundings quiet, high overlapping branches soaking up all ambient sound and leaving the air below still and solid, a blanket of silence. 

Of course Thor knows exactly what Loki speaks of, but it is _hardly_ his fault. 

“Look!” Loki stops wrestling vexingly with his garments to make a gesture with his hand, as if to slap at the air, fingers curled around—

“Nothing!”

The Tesseract is not in their possession and yet their powerlessness remains.

Loki lets his hand fall away with a sneer. He marches determinedly in front, adjusting the red cape tied at his neck. He protects his face as they pass new growth that springs out with youthful flexibility, slapping and stinging like whips as they file through the single narrow path. 

Thor watches his back until they come to a towering pine, one massive spiny arm held out as if to say ‘halt.’ Loki thrashes the obstacle aside, its bud caps floating off like snow and the fresh needles releasing a scent which has a hard, minty sting. 

The tree’s arm swings back at Thor’s head. He ducks and with a growl of frustration, whaps the offending branch so strongly it cracks. He stamps forwards just as fast, shoves past Loki with a less than gentle bump of the shoulder, swinging his arms in long wooden strokes like oars on a boat. 

Thor can practically hear Loki bare his teeth.

“Watch it, you stup—” 

The loud snap of Thor’s foot on a branch sounds a lot like the break in his resolve. He whirls, thrusting a finger into Loki’s face. 

“Please,” Thor says politely, darkly, “Finish that.” 

Loki’s eyes cross for just a moment, before he’s grinning and shrugs mockingly, “It _is_ your fault. If you even used your head half as much as your hammer—”

“ _You_ were the one who distracted me with that pathetic attempt at swimming—”

“Oh!? _You’re_ pathetic. Running back to dear old Daddy—” 

They’re nose to nose, green irises angrily staring into blue. Looking upon Loki’s smarmy pale face, Thor can feel himself shouting anything that comes to mind, not really hearing what comes out of his mouth. It’s like all of his blood is pounding in his head, a war drum, beating any thoughts away and making his ears throb with a deafening pulse. 

“—At least I do not lie to myself!” Thor bellows wretchedly and finds his fists have snagged Loki’s shoulders, squeezing. 

“Really?” Loki lets out a strangled bark of laughter, “Because from where I stand, that’s _all_ you do!”

“If there is any blame to be had it sits squarely upon your shoulders. By Odin’s eye,” Thor shakes Loki as though this will help him feel the weight of responsibility, a burden Thor has carried alone from Asgard to Midgard and back again.

“You probably planned it!”

“Indeed,” Loki replies in a shrewd, sarcastic manner, his eyes turning to slits, “It was my choice to swap the Tesseract for _this._ ” Loki gestures to the clothing he has donned with a jerk of his head.

Thor’s glare drops to Loki’s feet and then slowly climbs up again. 

Someone out there is parading around in Loki’s outfit.

A female someone.

“Of _course_ it was not planned,” Loki growls, scowling down at the robe tied around his slender waist with a huff. The garment is what had been stuffed into the crate and only by chance did it fit Loki instead of Thor (otherwise Thor is certain he would be donning the apparel in his stead.) Loki bore the frock well enough, although not without complaint. But now, he rattles in Thor’s grasp, chin jutting out angrily and cheeks red, clashing with Thor’s cape tied around his neck.

Indignation is something Loki has always done well. Only now, Thor cannot tell whether it is sincere or not. Maybe he never could.

“Pity. It’s fetching on you.”

Thor snorts out, not caring about this particular hindrance in the least. At least, not whilst his mind is spinning wildly, curling up tight with a fierce frustration that usually spends itself through a well-placed swing of Mjölnir. As it stands now, however, the hammer hangs from his belt, worthless, just the same as before. Despite how he has longed for his brother’s return, it’s getting harder and harder to keep from snapping at each other. It’s like every spite between them is another reason to fight— Like they’re charging up with no outlet for release.

It’s strange but Loki is breathing quickly, chest moving up and down underneath the little embroidered crest he does not recognize upon the robe’s front pocket. Thor catches Loki’s gaze in this moment. Across the space between them he can almost hear the question they’re both thinking.

How’s this going to blow up?

Thor feels a strange twisting in his chest that wrings sweat out of his palms. The minty scents of the pines suddenly burn in his nose like a spice he can barely take. He frowns, confused, and breaks the stare.

“Was it not planned when you purposely cracked the chamber? Or shall I assume your every attempted escape has been a mere accident?”

“Huh. Figured that out, did you,” Loki says without fanfare, not even trying to deny it. He even half-smiles. 

Thor drops his hands away from Loki’s shoulders. They immediately ball into fists and then... and then unfurl, achingly slack because if he’s learnt anything, Thor knows he cannot hold onto fury and move forwards at the same time. Especially in times of peril.

“It makes no difference.” Thor sighs, “We shall continue and retrieve the cube. Together.”

“Don’t look so maudlin, Thor,” Loki replies, the side of his mouth tugging up higher, the red in his face fading. “This is what you wanted, after all.”

Loki is wrong, of course. But Thor does not say so. He is already pent up to the brim with needless frustration and he needs no more. In truth, he is unsure of what he desires, now that his task has been so plainly ripped away. The only course of action is to find the Tesseract, steal it back and return to Odin. But where will this chase take them, if not into danger? They are weakened and not just in strength. What will happen to Loki after, when Thor sees this duty done? 

He looks up, taking in Loki’s appearance. The fact that he is still right there beside Thor is enough. 

“You know nought of what I want,” Thor says on a whisper.

“Don’t I?” Loki asks. “You always tell me everything even if your words do not.”

Oh, but Loki is nothing if not excellent at inciting a scorch in Thor— as if there is still a niggling flame of some emotion somewhere deep in his gut, unwilling to die. One which reminds him of what came before, of the love they used to share that has become but a shadow. In its wake is a spark. Thor does not know its name, but sometimes it blows to a roar as if he’s the fire and Loki the wind. 

It is difficult, but it is more than enough. 

Thor nods slowly, the motion a guillotine to the back of his neck. The rest of his festering anger drops away, like crumbling useless lumps of coal, burnt to a crisp. 

“Know this, then.” Thor mutters and gently takes Loki by the arm, just under the wound he has wrapped up tight. Loki looks at him blankly, watches Thor’s fingers link around his wrist and reading Thor as if this is a boring tale, one heard many times before. Still, for once, Loki does not fight his touch. 

Thor turns on his boot heel and quietly steers them down the trail.

They do not speak more.

Except to yowl when Thor stubs his precious toe on a root and Loki steps on a too sharp rock.

A day more perhaps, if the weather stays on their side. Unless the culprit who has stolen their wares lives in a tree, it is most likely she has stuck to the trails and plans to enter the cross-shaped village that could be seen at the foot of the mountain. 

They track onwards, grumbling, the only sounds the soft _smush-crunch-crrrricks_ of the leaves and twigs underfoot. A never-ending paisley tapestry stretches out to cover the forest floor.

The clues to the mystery of their missing magic have lined themselves up neatly; the massive blow out of power that had left them reeling, disoriented. The unrecognizable runes burnt into the soil of an unintended landing spot—too far away from the palace for their journey to be safe. Their powers, gone. 

And now the cube, stolen.

Thor knows what this all means but he will not give voice to it, even if his silence makes Loki believe him foolish. There is nothing foolish in wishing his conclusion were false. He shakes the thoughts from his head and presses on, holding up the offending arm of another pine so that he and Loki can pass under. They must keep moving.

They’re inside a trap.

*******

In the night the rain comes.

It comes in deep, pounding waves, pouring over the mountainside and into the forest crevice like water sent to quench a thirst.

It is only because Thor and Loki have travelled together so many times before that they find shelter without burden. They ensconce themselves in the crevice of a cave just as the rain comes glancing down. The place is the home of a beast, but, Loki thinks almost fondly— Thor easily takes care of that.

The smell of cooked meat and fat from their meal pushes thickly to coat all the edges of the cave. Loki runs a hand along the grey walls, mapping the space with his fingertips. There are white crystals lacing through the rock in grid-like patterns, shining in the dark. He reaches the mouth of the cave that gapes for a drink of the water just beyond. 

The roaring rain draws lines like minerals in the black stone of night, the downpour washing away the blurry foot trails and stirring up the forest’s carpet like a muddy soup. A flash illuminates the swaying trees and casts everything in a sudden silvery light before the night swallows it whole, the telltale rumble of thunder shaking the sky a moment later.

“You’ll soil your skirt.” 

“Ha, ha,” Loki rolls his eyes, humouring Thor just this once. His jibe is awkward and light and completely transparent. 

Loki turns away from the elements and returns to the warmed hollow where Thor is dusting his hands off next to the fire burning within a small circle of stones. The flames skip with short _clicks_ , like the hands on a clock stealing time. Loki sits in the soft pine needles their dinner had once used as a bed and reaches up to his neck to untie Thor’s cape.

“Keep yourself cloaked,” Thor says before he can undo the knot.

Loki lets his hands fall from his throat without argument. 

In truth, he is tired of arguing with Thor, a sentiment he knows is shared. The last leg of travel has taken toll on them both, though they do not speak of it. Still, Loki resolves to be focussed despite the fatigue settling into his limbs where he has not known fatigue before. 

Thor gives a grunt, lying down by the fire, his eyes squinting in the flickering light.

They’ve always been this way, pushing against limits when it would mean besting the other. Loki thinks of their youth with a familiar despondency, of the way Thor didn’t even need to try and the way Loki felt desperation in his bones where Thor only knew glory. Loki knows well the need to win, a desire so great it never mattered the prize, for it soon became that any recognition from Thor would have been consolation enough. 

Equals. 

But even something as small as that was something Thor could not give. Loki supposes it’s hard to see unfairness when one’s standing on higher ground. 

Thor had reached out too late.

Well, now they’re knocked down a peg, stripped of their powers and left to the dangers of Asgard’s elements. Thor doesn’t even have any friends to help him, and oh, he does have so _many_ of those. 

Loki smiles wryly to himself. It’s a good trap. Not very elaborate, which is more to his taste, but he can appreciate simplicity when it works. Now he just needs to know _whose_ trap it is.

He glances down at the crest sewn onto the robe he wears, running a thumb over the raised threads. It’s mid-class work at best, but not a pauper’s garments by any means. Before the storm came and filled his nostrils with the thick smells of vegetation, Loki had caught the hint of a scent he couldn’t quite place. Like smoke, except not. It was sweet and cloying, the grease on the hem of the garments dried in. Candles? Incense? He wonders, trying to recall any knowledge that might put them at the advantage when they enter the town.

It would be unwise to separate at this point. He’s content to allow Thor his stubborn mission, for now.

Thor rolls onto his side, facing away so the fire may dry his back. 

Loki takes the moment to look at him, the spidery wet wrinkles in his once proud tunic, the single muddy boot, bedraggled hair and shivering—

Loki’s stare goes flat.

“Keep it on, brother.” Thor says warningly, voice deep and controlled. 

He’s not even spared Loki a glance and yet knows exactly where Loki’s hands are, betraying him at the knot on his throat. Loki swallows against the jagged edge of irritation in the pit of his gut. The cape wrapped around his body makes him feel heated, ill at ease.

Embarrassed, he snipes back, “How could the one who rules thunder fall prey to a little rain?”

“Tch,” Thor growls, “Have you already forgotten! You all but pulled me into the river—” 

Thor cuts himself off, too obvious in his avoidance of another argument. 

The air dries between them, a long moment, like a parchment curling in on itself crisply. The incessant _drip-drops_ and trickling of the rain echo through the cave and fill up the void. Thor is so still it’s clear he’s holding the shivers in.

Loki lies down beside him so that they are back to back, but leaves a comfortable gap between them. In the silence the fire snaps like impatient fingers, awkwardly waiting for Loki to transform the dreadful mood back into something easier.

Nothing comes to mind.

A tremor wracks through Thor.

“I don’t need your coddling,” Loki says, deliberately slow and under his breath to beat back the rushed feeling he gets, the sense of urgency he _always_ gets, when Thor is in distress not of Loki’s own making. His fingers are at the knot on his neck, slowly twisting the ends of the cape. “You know what I am.”

The words themselves don’t hurt as much anymore— they’ve pierced him as deep as they can, but they still work on Thor who flinches and then holds himself at rest.

“You are hurt,” Is all Thor says.

There’s a twinge in his arm as if the wound responds to Thor. Loki grits his teeth, imagining ice stalactites on the cave’s ceiling, pointing down in conviction, pointing out a weakness so blatant in him it’s too hard to ignore. He closes his eyes, holding back a sigh at their combined stubbornness. Thor should know by now that bravery does nothing to ease pain. 

The fire snaps again.

After long moments, there’s a shuffle, as though Thor has moved to pillow his head upon his arm, still the opposite way.

“Father explained,” Thor broaches the topic at last, his cadence rigid, voice but a brittle whisper. 

Loki finds a sick sort of anticipation turning in his stomach, a sort of thrill at the thought of Thor knowing this intimately— perhaps even knowing more than Loki himself. He never did listen to all Odin had to say. It makes Loki furious, of course, at the shame of such a want and the need for reaction. But he is curious, if anything, curious to a fault what Thor thinks of him. It’s his weakness, after all.

Would Thor demand he shift his appearance to that of a Jotun, so that he may see with his own eyes? And would Thor reel in disgust at the sight, cast him away? Or would Thor peer closer, curious too, and see Loki as someone different, not as the brothers they once were. Someone new. The possibilities make Loki chew his lower lip, fists clench beside his head.

Thor continues unawares with a snort, “More than that, I do not know you as anything but Loki— the same who needed no less than fifty furs on his first trip to the Alps. Frost Giant, indeed.”

Loki stares into the darkness, almost wanting to laugh. “It was the fashion at the time.”

Thor _does_ laugh, a breathless one-time sound that carries away through the cave like smoke on the wind. 

The awkward silence returns.

It presses down on them so heavily that it isn’t until later Loki’s eyes snap open and he realizes Time’s hands had yanked him straight into sleep.

*******

The rain has weakened by the sound of it, dulled down to a fine spray, the misty beginnings of fog licking at the cave’s mouth. It’s peaceful, the calming scent of washed foliage and the gentle pattering of the storm dancing away. But that feeling shatters as a violent shudder runs down Loki’s spine— a shudder that is not his own.

“What are you doing,” Loki hisses. It’s not quite a question when weighed down with scorn. 

Thor says nothing in return, but jerks. Where once there was a comfortable heat at the press of their backs, the sudden gap between them is alarming in its intensity, like Loki had been lying on solid ground that suddenly dropped away.

“I’ll take watch,” Thor says, and in his voice is the awful thinness of a wheeze.

“Don’t do that.”

“What?” Thor grumbles, curling in tighter on himself even though that’s the opposite of getting up. 

Loki does not answer, remaining prone, his heart beating in quick shallow skips. The fire has died down, its embers a passionate red amongst the stones. Unthinkingly, he raises a hand to replenish the flames and then curses at his foolishness, warring with what about the situation he hates more. Until Thor lets out a gigantic, wet sneeze.

Loki has heard enough.

“Thor, _no._ ”

“Fine,” Thor replies petulantly, “Then _you_ take watch.”

He sneezes again and Loki can hear him rubbing his sopping nose disgustingly on one arm gauntlet.

“Don’t get sick.” Loki orders, sitting up and moving quickly to stoke the flames back into life.

“I am _not._ ” Thor groans, long legs unfolding and kicking out, catching Loki in the ankle. 

Loki scowls, poking the burgeoning flames with more force than necessary as Thor rolls over, squinting up at him with a pained sort of look that could be a glare, if Loki looked at him sideways. It would be much more menacing if Thor’s hair weren’t riddled with pine needles and stuck up at one side.

“Come, lay close to the fire. Sweat it out,” Loki suggests.

Thor snivels as though he were a child but shuffles close, dangerously close to pillowing his head on Loki’s thigh.

Loki holds in a long-suffering sigh and unties Thor’s damned cape, draping it over him with one swoop.

*******

“—’m still cold.” Thor complains through a gravelly throat, sometime later, as he woozily sits up from the darkness of sleep to the dull gray of the cave.

It’s humid, like the rain has just stopped but Thor realizes he is sticky with sweat, his garments soaked through. He spots Loki at the far end of the cave. He’s seated on the broken ridge of a boulder, his nose pointed towards the cave floor. There’s a long stick in his hand and he hunches over, scratching something into the stone and dirt. 

“Go back to sleep,” Loki says without turning, “No one is coming for us tonight. Whoever set this trap thinks we’re already caught.”

“I feel ill,” Thor murmurs, putting a hand to his forehead and finding it slicked. He stares at the sweat droplets in confusion, then calls, “Loki—”

But Loki’s there, standing beside the fire and looking down at Thor. There’s a frustratingly blank look upon his face only made soft by the wavering shadows of the flames. 

Thor is struck by the sight of him for an instant, struck by the fact that Loki is here and alive. For Thor had spent so long believing his brother died and his world had been turned upside down by the loss, like a boat flipped at sea during a storm. And now that it’s been righted again Thor’s left blinking, gasping, drenched with the underwater darkness – stung with the sudden gift of air.

His head is swimming.

“Go back to sleep,” Loki urges. 

“My clothes are sodden,” Thor murmurs, twisting uncomfortably in the folds of his cape, suddenly stifled.

“Well, then take them off.” 

That strange scorch from before sparks deep in Thor’s gut again, burning uncomfortably like a single hot coal. An unnamed fizzle, it feels vaguely like he’s charging up for a fight, as if he’s been provoked. It’s not as if it has never happened before. But he shakes his head, feeling heavy and light at once, as if one part of his brain is tethered to a buoy as the other part sinks. 

Loki kneels beside him then, keen eyes framed with spiky eyelashes, gaze trailing over Thor’s cocoon. 

He reaches out to touch Thor’s head, take his temperature. Thor lets him, feeling feverous, even leaning into the coolness of Loki’s palm. Being close to his brother still pushes away some of the ache, even if they’re on opposing sides. He can’t ignore that, not now, when Loki is all he has. He wants Loki to know this, if nothing else. 

“You’ll steal them while I sleep,” Thor says instead, keeping any sentiment to himself. 

“No, I won’t.” Loki promises, voice smooth and sincere.

And then he swiftly cuffs Thor hard on the ear.

“Ouch! Damn, you—” Thor sputters, dizzy.

“That’s for slapping me at the river.” Loki sneers, but there’s still a strong sense of comfort anyway, when Loki places calm hands upon Thor’s shoulders. Thor curls his hand to cup Loki around the neck, the solid throb of a pulse grounding any unsteadiness. 

Loki swallows.

The apple of his throat bobs up and down, moving against Thor’s thumb.

He combs Thor’s hair away from his face, needles falling down and fingertips catching on the tiny spikes of his beard.

“Why do you always do that,” Loki whispers, voice coloured so deep and dark.

But Thor has no answer, the burning from his stomach having moved up his throat.

Loki takes a deep breath and pushes the cape away then carefully helps to wrench the damp tunic over his head. Sweat has pushed its way out every pore and Thor’s skin feels clammy in the air until Loki puts a hand to his collarbone and Thor lies down, kicking off his boot. He helps to shimmy off his pants as Loki grabs fistfuls of leather at the knees and pulls. 

He feels better already, gasping in bliss as the air dries his skin. And then Loki near-strangles him, bundling Thor back into the cape with his fist, closing the material tight at Thor’s neck. But it doesn’t matter if Loki’s rough, that’s just extra attention. Thor exhales and folds into the warmth. 

Loki sits back and gathers the garments to spread them by the fire. 

Thor sneezes.

“Loki,” He mouths, not liking the feeling of him moving away, but Loki returns and lies down so they are back to back. 

“Sleep,” He commands quietly.

Thor sniffs, finding half his nose plugged. He closes his eyes, breathing wetly, and surrenders to the much needed slumber.

*******

Loki, of course, lied.

*******


End file.
